


Lulu's Ripening

by FruitFrakker



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: F/M, Humiliation, Inflation, POV Second Person, blueberry inflation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 18:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruitFrakker/pseuds/FruitFrakker
Summary: Lulu has a private dinner with Maester Seymour, which she soon regrets. Blueberry Expansion. Second Person POV. Noncon. Bad-ish End.





	Lulu's Ripening

Irritation. You shouldn't really feel it, not in the presence of a Maester of all people, but it's there, burning behind your amber eyes and unyielding smirk. There are of course reasons why he'd want to have an audience with you; you've known Yuna your entire life, practically raised her in the absence of her Mother and Father. And Seymour seems cordial enough. But every once in a while, you catch a glimmer in his sapphire eyes; an unsettling side-long glance where he appears to size you up like a piece of meat. He, and the mansion he resides in, give off an uncomfortable aura to you.  
  
Or perhaps it is just your prejudices, you can't really say. You tug on the fur-lined lip of your corset, somewhat embarrassed by the sweat beading down your creamy bosom. The murky, muggy air of Gaudosalam is worse than the hottest days in Besaid, and your ornate, form-hugging dress is ill-suited for the environment. Sinister or not, the sooner you leave this strange grotto, the better.  
  
You brush one of your braids back as you lift a goblet to your violet lips, savoring the taste of the sweet wine prepared for you by your host. A rich fruity flavor, of indeterminate variety, coats your taste buds, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine. Perhaps there is something of value here after all! There is an expectant look from the blue haired priest as you drain your cup, perhaps a glance at your legs and hips? A sense of unease returns, and you shift your legs closer together, the multitude of belt hanging between them clattering as you do. You place the emptied goblet on the table and give Seymour a bemused look.  
  
"Maester Seymour," you begin. "Am I to suppose the reason you brought me here today was to give you blessing to your and Yuna's betrothal?"  
  
The Gaudo chuckles, stroking one of his impossible forked bangs before laying out his spindly hands on the table. "No," He said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "That isn't it at all. I do not care for the opinions of anyone by my beloved's on the matter. Nothing will stand between the two of us returning hope to Spira."  
  
Your smirk disappears into a more neutral expression as Seymour's servant, Tromell, if you remember correctly, stops by you to refill your goblet. You're beginning to feel a buzz in your innards; a gentle heat spreading out over your skin and what feels like a blush on your face. Perhaps you should not have any more, but... well, it would be rude to refuse their hospitality. You take another long sip of your drink, this time it's even sweeter. You can't help but let out a slight moan, but you stifle it quickly, clearing your throat to speak.  
  
"So, you wish to know more about Lady Yuna then? How she was growing up, how compatible I believe the two of you are? Or perhaps my memories of Lord Braska-"  
  
"Madame Lulu," He says, holding out a hand. "You are far too serious for someone of your age. I did not invite you here because of your relation to Yuna. I invited you because of... you." An unpleasant grin spreads across his lips.  
  
_Me?_ you think, involuntarily blushing brighter. An ominous gurgle emanates from your stomach, no longer just a sense of warmth spreading out from it, but pressure as well. You rub your midsection in discomfort, is it getting... larger?  
  
You push the thought from your mind, taking another sip even though you've obviously had enough. "Taken an interest me?" You say, your speech slightly slurred. "Why, I'm, uh, flattered. But isn't this... uncouth, given your intentions with Lady Yuna?"  
  
He chuckles again, standing from the table. "You and Lady Yuna are entirely different beasts. Yuna is still but a sapling, and I will tend to her so she may blossom for the good of all the faithful." He strides towards you confidently; you seek apprehensively into your chair, still stroking your bloated stomach. "But you... why, you're a woman in full bloom, growing riper with every day, and of _peculiar _interest to me." He takes your hand gently and lifts it into the air. "Even men of the cloth have their needs."  
  
Even in your stupor, the obvious intentions of his words aren't lost on you; you have half a mind to slap him across the face. But then it dawn on you, your hand right before your eyes. _Blue? _You think, eyes widening at sight. Yes, blue, a deep, creamy blue coats your hand, and your arm for that matter. You look down to see your breasts and collarbone are a brilliant cerulean as well. As if on cue, Seymour draws a conveniently placed hand mirror from the table, holding it in-front of your face. Blue as well, save a blush of maroon across your flustered cheeks. Even your lips have turned a deeper shade of purple. You look at your... tormentor? Captor? Whatever he is, he is in control, and your wide eyes gaping mouth betray your confusion and fear.  
  
"What... what have you... NNNNNNFFF!" Your stomach definitively bulges outward, stretching your corset and rattling your belts. Seymour chuckles, reaching out with his long fingers to stroke against your swollen belly.  
  
"Funny what berries grown near the Farplane can do to a human," he muses, running his fingers around your navel, slightly indented against your dark dress. "In the Dark Ages, Gaudo druids used to transform human trespassers on our lands, as sacrifices to the old pagan gods..." His hand traces up your round stomach and across your bosom, which, to your horror, has also begun to grow against your corset, your tender flesh brushing against the fur. You bite your lip; he laughs. "Barbaric, don't you think? To waste such... exquisite beauty. What the Farberry does to the human form is nothing short of_ majestic_." He pats your head affectionately. You are not amused.  
  
"You're sick!" You shout, stumbling up from the table; your thighs and hips are somewhat wider than you remember, throwing off your balance. Your dress squeaks, trying its best to manage your growing form, while your belts crackle and twang as they're pulled tighter around your legs. "You can't do this to me!" You step back, stomach and breasts jiggling, as you prepare to cast Fira on him.  
  
...  
  
Nothing. The Maester cocks an eyebrow, smirking as he steps forward. "It so amuses me that you would think engaging a master of the arcane arts in a duel of magic is an intelligent course of action, but alas, I am afraid you do not even have the option." You gesture for the spell again uselessly, ignoring his words. Nothing again. "It is quite entertaining, seeing such a strong woman refuse to admit how powerless she is. In vain of course." Right in front of you, he slides his hands onto your plump ass, his long fingers firmly gripping your buttcheeks as it grows out against them. "But... that is what drew me to you in the first place..." You bite your lip as you look up him, your expression a mixture of hatred and terror... and, to your horror, arousal.   
  
"No..." You murmur, increasingly impotently, as your love handles and back begin to bulge outward, straining your dress further. You spread your legs out to balance your new-found weight, the legs themselves are chunkier now, and it's become too much for some of your belts to bear. Several pop off, one after another, in loud snaps that spank against your supple flesh, leaving magenta welts on your thick legs.  
  
That pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming sensation of your rising gut, the leather of your corset creaking as your torso widens in each direction. You hear your backlaces stretch and twang as the flesh of your back rises against them. You place your hands, your arms themselves flabbier than you remember, on your flaring sides and push into them, as if you could make... whatever is filling you disappear that way. You merely increase the unpleasantness of the pressure in your torso, indenting your palms into your gut, and causing an extra spurt of expansion in your rump; your once flowing dresstail is now hiked above your ankles. As you again readjust your wobbly legs to maintain your balance, Seymour circles you like a vulture, eyeing your swelling and your feeble attempts to contain it.  
  
"They always try to fight it at first, of course," He remarks, coming to a stop directly behind you. He wraps an arm tightly around your massive midsection, squeezing the juices higher and lower, while the other hand fiddles with your braids betwixt his sickly fingers. "It's only natural, as the people of Spira cling so dearly to their hopeless, meaningless lives." His voice is nearly a whisper, you feel his warm breath brush against your ear. You feel him deftly undo your braids, then pluck the hairsticks from your updo, your raven hair free to cascade down your curved back, all the way to your ass. "But eventually, they all recognize the... beauty and serenity of the release I provide them. In time, so will you~." He softly nibbles on your ear.  
  
You recoil slightly, biting your lip, but another moan escapes, revealing a hint of truth to his words. You'll never admit it, though. You won't numbly submit to being his plaything! You shake your head, long hair thrashing side to side. "Do you really believe you will get away with this? Once Yuna... once my friends realize I am missing, they will come looking for me. They will not abandon me!"  
  
He leans back, pursing his lips. "Yes, your friends..." He murmurs, shuffling around your bulging body. His fingertips brush against the front of your corset, the fabric fraying at the seams. Your breathing becomes strained as your dress grips at your swelling torso, your bosom threatening to grow out of your fur-lined top. "Camaraderie and familial bonds certainly do give the world the courage to endure the unendurable. But, I ask, in the service of what?" His hand grips your belly, your flesh expanding uncomfortably into his palm. "Seeing your flesh transmute before your eyes, to be betrayed by your own body, can you not now see the fragility of your existence? The inevitability of oblivion that surrounds us all?" His grip loosens, his index finger tracing up a splitting seam of your bodice. "Why resist it? Why not... embrace the beauty of your inevitable demise?"  
  
You don't reply; words have failed you. All you can do is bite back your moans as your 'host' works fingers around your swollen gut. Your breasts aren't helping matters; rising steadily, your nipples, now hard as steel and sensitive to the slightest prod, brush against the fur-lining of the dress, soaking it and yourself in a blue viscous liquid, your 'juices', it would appear. Not that it would matter to you, the sensation overwhelms you. You shift your weight, throwing your head back in a tremendous moan, and that does it. With a creak, your massive breasts overflow your corset, leaping forward and spraying geysers of juice across the room. Before you can process it, you're tumbling over, and no amount of frantic arm wiggling can stop it. Your belly sloshes as it cushions your fall, your breasts bouncing freely to and fro on top of it. Another snap; your corset unfurls as the last back-lace breaks, leaving you effectively topless besides the elegant sleeves covering your increasingly conical arms. This would have bothered you more if you weren't already so vulnerable in more alarming ways. Mind clearing somewhat from your most recent release, you struggle to regain your footing, only to find your stomach too heavy, your legs too thick and clumsy, your arms too far from the ground. You must look ridiculous, flailing your limbs about ineffectually as you grow fatter and fatter. Seymour seems to agree, chuckling as he kneels before your furious yet desperate blue face.  
  
"Come now, Lulu," the bastard taunts, his fingers toying with the purple stones of your larges necklace; once draped over your cleavage, they barely now reach your collar bone. He brushes some of the messy raven bangs from your face as well. "Is this really how you wish to go out: as a slave to your foolish pride? I offer you pleasure-" His fingers stroke your cheek, "-no human could rightly expect to know in their lifetime. Do you deny the sensation of your flesh?"  
  
"I- I don't care how I feel," you lie. "I won't be your slave, your pet!" You waggle your limbs again, more silly than defiant. Seymour pats your head affectionately.  
  
"Well, I suppose it does not matter what you feel right now," he lifts up, running his hand through the locks strewn down your rounding back, growing less distinct from your belly and lovehandles by the second. "Inevitably, you will succumb. Tell me, do you still feel particularly human?"  
  
You want to scream 'Yes!' at the top of your lungs, but find you cannot bring yourself to do so. Fact is, you _don't _feel very human; your enormous gut sloshes and gurgles as the curves of your torso merge into a tear drop shape. You thrash your conical limbs again, no longer in defiance so much as in annoyance, at the now constant, warm sensation of pleasure welling up all over your body. As you kick, the bottom of your dress, stretched to the breaking point by your ass and thighs, gives way as well. You belt out a moan as your bottom and legs jiggle freely, your entire azure body now exposed to the warm, moist air, save for the bits covered in the tattered remains of your dress, a few belts stubbornly clinging to your useless legs, and your pair of black high heels.  
  
"I... I don't want to feel this~," you pant, feeling sweat bead out across your rotund body. The slightest touch or slosh of internal juices excites you; you feel your loins moisten and the flow from your teats quicken. "I don't want to feel any of thiiissaAAAAAaahhhhhh~!" Seymour's fingers slide down your backside--now below the crest of your back as your thighs are widened into your torso--tenderly stroking your vestigal legs and tossing aside the rags that once were your elegant dress.  
  
"I must say, what exactly is your fixation with belts?" he asks, roughly plucking one off your calve. "Represent your bondage to your... friends? To Yuna? To Spira?" He rips another off. "Whatever the case, It did little to stop you from blossoming into what you were meant to be, don't you think?"  
  
You bite your plump lip. "Pleeeease... make it stooop... th-this has to stop, doesn't it?" Your helplessness is now all but absolute as your rising body lifts your limbs out of reach of the ground, not that your near rigid 'arms' and 'legs' could do more than wiggle now. His fingers glide down the rest of the length of your leg, circling the ankle before grabbing the heel of your shoe.  
  
"In time, my dear," he says, gingerly plucking your shoe from your foot and tossing it aside. "In my experience," he rolls you slightly to the side, removing and discarding your other shoe. "The humans who ripen the longest are the closest to perfection; their firmness, their aroma, their..." he runs his fingers across your exposed sole, "_texture..._" You moan reflexively at his touch, your entire body vibrates. Thinking becomes harder as your mind is simply swamped with immense alien sensations, increasingly of unbearable pleasure. Without willing it, a smile of unthinking content spreads across your face.  
  
As your thighs disappear into your all-encompassing torso, Seymour once again toys with you, tracing up your vanishing legs and around your increasingly uniformly curved body, finally stroking your flushed, dark purple cheek before standing infront of you, scratching his chin as he sizes you up. Your arms may as well not exist; your armleggings, the last vestiges of your dress, rip off and fall to the ground, leaving sloped mounds of azure flesh, ending in dainty hands that flap about. Your head hasn't been spared either; your cheeks and lips are significantly fuller, though it's somewhat hard to tell as your neck disappears and your chin is pressed against what used to be your collar bone, your entire head forming a divot in your spherical body.  
  
"So, Lulu," The Guado pats you on the head. "Now that you near the end of your blossoming, how do you feel?"  
  
You bite your plump lip. You try to work up the will to resist him, _anything _to deny the sensations you now feel or what you know you have become. "I... I don't..."  
  
Seymour chuckles. "Defiant to the last. Amusing as always..." He digs his fingers under your chin, lifting your head up to gaze at his face, the raw, terrible intensity of eyes unmistakable now. "But now the time for defiance ends." He pecks you lightly on the cheek. "Now please, do tell me how you really feel."  
  
Your will is gone; he's broken you. "It... nnnff... it's amazing~.... I've.. I've never felt anything like this.... before~...." The truth gushes out from you like the juice from your tits, your tongue sticking out as you pant between moans. All your refinement, your exotic beauty, reduced to a giant blue ball. And now you cannot imagine it being any other way. "W-will this last forever~?"  
  
Seymour shakes his head. "Nothing lasts forever my dear, not even an exquisite beauty as yourself. All ripe fruit must wither and decay, as is the nature of all things. But I intend to savor that beauty, for the little while it lasts." He brushes some of your bangs across your face.  
  
"Oh, pleeeaase~," you moan loudly, a slave to your passions. "Please play with me more~. My body... My body needs...nnnnnnnff..." The leaking from your genitals only increases as the last bit of limbs disappears, leaving your digits, head and breasts as the only reminder that you were once human. Again Seymour shakes his head.  
  
"I'm afraid I have important Church matters to attend to," he turns his back to you, already walking away. "A shepherd must always care for his flock. But don't worry, preparations for you have already been made."  
  
With a snap of his fingers, half a dozen Gaudo guards file into the room, quickly surrounding your turgid form. Three gather to your left and to your right, and you feel their hands press against you. Your body gurgles and jiggles as it begins to shift; your field of view turned on it's side, then upside down. You're... rolling? You giggle as your head comes up the other side, your juices and pulp all sloshing around. Of course you're rolling. How else would they move a giant fat piece of fruit like you?  
  
As you roll across the room, away from your master, you catch a glimpse of him bowing. "Until we meet again, Madame Lulu, I bid you Adieu."  
  
As you pick up speed rolling, two guards break away to open a pair of heavy doors, revealing what seems to be a ramp. No longer needing to control you, the rest of the pushers disperse as well, leaving you to spin end over end across the floor, your hair flailing wildly around your body. You clear the threshold, tumbling down the ramp and across the floor of what seems to be a cellar before bouncing up against something as firm yet jiggly as you are. You hear a moan, dozens of them in fact, and as you crane your head you can see from the light though the door that what you have run into is in fact another berry girl. Scores of them fill the room, all in a state of cow-like contentment. But not one of them is as large as you are, a point that oddly fills you with pride.  
  
With a creak, the doors to the dining room, the only source of light, begin to close. As the light begins to fade, so too does whatever remains of your former identity; Lulu the guardian, Lulu the black mage, Lulu the Woman with responsibilities, hopes, desires. As the door slams shut and inky darkness engulfs you, all that remains is Lulu, the berry girl. And you love it.


End file.
